The cameras multiplied.
Aiden didn't need the system to tell him that.
He felt it in the pauses between missions, in the way corridors cleared seconds before he arrived, in how conversations ended when he entered a room. Surveillance no longer hid itself.
It assumed consent.
[Observation Density: Increased.]
[Threat Likelihood: Minimal.]
Minimal, because he was the threat.
And the solution.
Public broadcasts began to use a different tone.
Not fear.
Reverence.
"The Anomaly Responds Within Minutes"
"SSS+ Ranker Prevents Catastrophe Again"
"Aiden Kurovale: Humanity's Final Safeguard"
They stopped using his rank.
They used his name.
That was worse.
Missions blurred together.
Gates collapsed cleanly. Monsters erased with precise output. Casualties reduced to acceptable margins. The system learned when to let him hesitate for fractions of a second just enough to appear human.
[Public Perception: Stabilized.]
Aiden noticed something else too.
Hana stopped appearing in official schedules.
Lucas was reassigned to "external coordination."
Mei-Lin transferred divisions without warning.
The resistance wasn't being crushed.
It was being thinned.
Aiden confronted Marcus Hale in the observation corridor.
"Where is Hana?" he asked.
Marcus didn't look surprised.
"Safe," he replied. "As long as she remains unproblematic."
"That's not an answer."
Marcus smiled faintly. "It's the only one that matters."
The system pulsed, but didn't intervene.
Aiden realized why.
This conversation was allowed.
That night, Aiden stood on the roof of the facility, city lights stretching endlessly beneath him. Drones hovered at a respectful distance.
He remembered when the city used to feel close.
Now it looked like a diagram.
Variables.
Outputs.
Loss thresholds.
The unauthorized message came weeks later.
Short.
Encrypted.
HANA: They're erasing us quietly. One transfer at a time. No arrests. No martyrs.
Aiden stared at the message.
The system detected it instantly.
[Unauthorized Communication Logged.]
No punishment followed.
Instead
[Emotional Suppression: 31%.]
The number rose without pain.
That frightened him more than punishment ever had.
Aiden responded with one word.
I know.
He hated how calm it felt.
Time passed strangely after that.
Months folded into each other, marked only by mission numbers and suppression percentages. Aiden's image grew larger while his world grew smaller.
Children wore his symbol.
Merchants sold replicas of his combat silhouette.
People cheered when he appeared.
They didn't see the distance in his eyes.
Hana disappeared completely three months later.
No message.
No warning.
Just absence.
The system provided no alert.
Aiden felt something strain inside him.
Not break.
Just… stretch.
[Emotional Spike: Contained.]
He closed his eyes.
"I'm still here," he whispered to himself, or to her, or to something already gone.
The system answered softly.
[Confirmed.]
Marcus Hale watched the data stream with satisfaction.
"Isolation complete," he murmured. "He's becoming inevitable."
The director hesitated. "And when inevitability learns to choose?"
Marcus smiled.
"That," he said, "is why legends don't get endings."
Aiden stood alone in containment, city reflected in reinforced glass.
He understood it now.
The first time skip wouldn't be marked by years.
It would be marked by absence.
By the day there was no one left to stop him from becoming exactly what the world needed.
And nothing more.